His Little Arthur
by Icestorm4811
Summary: England finds himself facing more and more struggles. Will America be able to save him in the end? Pairings: USXUK Warnings: Attempted Suicide
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Prologue

The way England saw it life could be what it liked and he could be what he liked. Should they really have to care for the other? The March of time would continue on anyways so what was the point of trying to make sense of it all?

He found himself thinking on the topic a bit more than he cared to admit. Lazy days surrounded by the smell of tea and dusty papers only seemed to aid in the thoughts. He would never admit it but it scared him a bit.

The fact that he had become so impassive to it all. What had happened to the proud country he had once been? To the pointless fights and ridiculous pride? When had the color drained from him leaving him dull and lifeless, a garnet worn just a bit to much, left out in the sun a bit to long the color long faded from the fabric?

When had the stars, that at one time brought him great joy to look at (when he could that is, considering the weather in England) become so trivial, earning nothing more than a passive gaze from him? When had he become so impassive to it all?

He was weak and crumpled, the fire in his eyes long faded put out by the water that was time. The effort of doing anything no longer seeming worth it. Why had the smells of his musky old library become so familiar to him? Why had his life become to dull?

Even now he found himself falling further into a pit, full of all these unanswered questions, regrets, and half baked promises to start caring again. But he couldn't move, bring himself to try to escape the pit because he couldn't bring himself to care. And that scared him it really did.

There were so many memories of happier days that the present paled in comparison, a pair of tired eyes next to the bright vibrant ones of the past.

He winced when he looked in the mirror. When had he become so pale? So tired looking? Dark circles under tired, glassy eyes contrasting a pale face. His hair messy and unkempt. His attire fairing no better..

How had something that had been so important to him fallen so far downhill? When had he stopped caring what he wore? Stopped trying to keep the habit on combing his hair and taking a shower every night? How could he have lost so much will that he couldn't even do that?

So England sat there. Trying to figure out how to fix this. " How have I fallen so far? Lost so much?" His voice was raspy from lack of use, Cracking when he spoke. It was Just as hollow and tired as he looked. He supposed life was a cruel game that no matter how far you got, how much you tried you would lose in the end. Time robbing you of all your resources. Your effort and your will to move forward. How had he let it extinguish the flames in his eyes? he thought. His mind put into a state of despair as he sat there.

This was it. The tears on his cheeks startled him. He let a crooked grin fall onto his face. How far had he come in the end? How close had he gotten to the being victorious? To being the first to win in the game against life. He knew that he had lost now. But still he wondered.

He closed his eyes. His head falling back. The tears would drown him now. End it all. Despair and loneliness there power. But he couldn't bring himself to care because he was alone now. He had lost everything so he let himself slip away. Into the darkness. So very indifferent.


	2. Confusion, Sickness, and Concern

Author's Note: The nation's human names are used in this so anyone who doesn't know: England=Arthur and America=Alfred

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Word Count: 1,539

Chapter 1: Confusion, Sickness, and Concern

England wasn't sure what exactly woke him. Perhaps it was the pitter patter of the rain on the roof. Had it been thundering? His mind felt like a puzzle the pieces still being put together. It was all connecting now. He glanced down at the plush bed beneath him and then brought a trembling hand to the oversized sleep shirt he was wearing. How had he gotten here? This wasn't his study. Or even his bed or night shirt for that matter.

He frowned. He made a valiant attempt to recall what had happened. He remembered being so… so… tired. He had fallen asleep. His mind made quick work of remembering the morbid thoughts he had before falling asleep. His frown deepened. No he hadn't fallen asleep. He had tried to end it. A lumped formed in his throat. He swilled quickly, willing himself not to cry again.

He still hadn't figured out where he was. He decided rather quickly that it would be easier to figure out sitting up rather than laying down. His arms shook as he attempted to pull himself up. A sharp pain stabbed through his stomach causing him to gasp in pain. He nearly fell back against the bed, the veracity of the pain taking him by surprise. Somehow he managed to pull himself up. Although his breathing was rather ragged and wheezy.

After his breathing had calmed and the pain had died down to a dull throb, he glanced around. The room seemed familiar but his jumbled mind wouldn't allow him to place exactly why it seemed familiar. He sat there grasping for some sort of helpful information for a few minutes before deciding to try to leave the room.

He shifted carefully, weary of the pain in his stomach. He stood on wobbly legs. His breathing short as he attempted to walk toward the door. He only made it a few steps before the pain in his stomach returned tenfold and his legs refused to support him anymore. He fell with a thump, clutching desperately at his stomach. His breathing was ragged.

Before he even realized what was happening he was throwing up. It burned his throat and he felt tears spring to his eyes as his stomach clenched tighter. He tried to pull himself up to avoid being covered in the gross substance but his trembling arms wouldn't allow it and he just slipped back down landing with a splat in his own barf. His stomach jolted with the movement and he couldn't help the whimper that escaped from between his lips.

He threw up again, but found himself surprised by the metallic taste and the crimson color now dripping down his chin. He let out another pained whimper. He quickly abandoned any ideas of moving after his stomach protested again and he curled in to himself. Trembling against the sharp pain that had made its home in his gut.

America was rummaging through his kitchen for the hundredth time that day. He had gone over to England's house earlier today and had found him in a pitiful state on the floor. Although he was sure the island nation would be pissed at him for it later, he had brought him to his house and changed him out of the sweaty attire he was wearing and quickly put him to bed. He was still worried about him though and he supposed that was why he couldn't seem to settle down and stop pacing the kitchen.

He stopped his fruitless search for a snack when he heard a loud thump. He froze. Confusion setting in his brain. He couldn't figure out where the noise was coming from or why it was there at all. "England!" He remembered suddenly. He supposed that he had been so worried about England that he'd forgotten to worry about England. However that worked.

He made a wild dash for the stairs after he came to his senses and couldn't help the unsettling feeling growing in his stomach as he grew closer to his bedroom. He threw open the bedroom door and winced at the sight before him.

There was England laying on the floor in a puddle of his own vomit. He was clutching at his stomach and his whole body was shaking with sobs. The sick nation had his back to him so he couldn't see his face but he was certain that he was crying. As he sat there staring at England he could feel his heart shatter. He knew that he had to do whatever it took to help him. He couldn't leave his England like this. A pitiful wreck on the floor.

With this new resolution he moved forward, intent on helping his friend. "England? Hey… It's America. I'm going to get you off of the floor. Alright?" America's voice was unusually soft and gentle. He received no reply except for pitiful whimpers so he moved further forward. He placed a gentle hand on the nation's shoulder and pulled him up.

England whimpered at the movement. America could finally see his tear-streaked face and felt his heart shatter all over again. "Oh, Arthur." He whispered, Pulling him against his chest. He cradled him carefully not really caring that he was getting covered in vomit.

He really had expected England to protest to being held. Expected him to struggle to get away. But he received no such thing and was instead met with the pitiful nation clinging on desperately to the front of his shirt. Sobs racked the fragile looking body and he seemed so very desperate to stay as close to America as possible. "It's alright, sweetie." He murmured softly. " You're gonna be okay. I'm here, my little Arthur."

The tenderness seemed so uncharacteristic of America but then again so was England's behavior. America was sure that he had never seen England cry, at least not like this. It was freaking him out. He seemed so unusually vulnerable. He supposed that he would have to get England back to normal, even if that meant acting a bit nicer and being more gentle than usual toward the sick bundle in his arms. So he cradled him and rocked him back in forth in his arms until the sobs turned into sniffles.

He then decided that England would feel much better if he had a bath and was in clean, dry clothes. A.K.A not covered in barf on the bedroom floor. He moved his arms under the smaller nation carefully, pulling him into his strong arms.

He moved toward the bathroom and made quick work of undressing and bathing the half asleep nation before wrapping him in the fluffiest towel he owned. He changed himself before scooping up England again. Moving towards the bedroom. "Let's get you dressed and to bed, hmm?"

America slipped another of his oversized shirts onto the frail-looking man before laying him down in the bed and pulling the covers snuggly over him. "Alfred?" England's voice was thin and weak when he spoke and America would admit that he was a bit surprised that England wasn't asleep.

"Yes, sweetie?" America immediately cursed himself for using the nickname. He knew that England hated them and although he usually wouldn't mind annoying the older man, now, when he was so sick, really didn't seem the appropriate time for such things.

Yet when he looked at England he didn't even seem annoyed. "I… well I… was just wondering…" He murmured hesitantly.

"Wondering what?" America moved closer to the bed and frowned. He couldn't help but wonder what was on England's mind that he had woken up to ask about it when he was feeling so bad.

" Well…" He began again. " I was just wondering if you would… staywithmeuntilIfellasleep." A light blush decorated his cheeks and he seemed to suddenly think that the blanket was the most interesting thing in the world.

America blinked. It took him a moment to realize what he was being asked and after that he couldn't help but be surprised at the question. " You… want me to stay with you?" He said dumbly. Still at a loss for words. Since when did England even like being in the same room as him? Nonetheless asking him to stay beside him until he fell asleep. England was definitely acting differently.

England didn't look up when he spoke again. "P-please? ...I… I'm scared to be alone." His voice was a whisper now. " I'm j-just scared." He choked out his body shaking. His words borderlining a sob.

America's eyes widened in shock and worry. "O-of course I'll stay with you!" He said quickly. He moved forward and pulled the covers back so he could lay beside the trembling nation. Suddenly glad that he'd changed from the vomit covered clothes earlier. He pulled his little England against his chest and stroked his hand through his soft hair.

England snuggled closer to him. His eyes drifting shut. Exhaustion was written all over the island nation's face. And it didn't take long for his breathing to even out as sleep claimed him. "Goodnight. My sweet little Arthur." America mumbled gently. Pressing a kiss to his soft golden hair.


	3. A Resolution, Breakfast, and Regrets

**_Word Count: 2,388_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I own nothing._**

Chapter 2: A Resolution, Breakfast, and Regrets

England awoke feeling oddly warm and well rested. He snuggled closer to the source of the warmth, sighing in content. A thought suddenly occurred to him. Why was it so warm? Where exactly was he?

His memories came flooding back suddenly. That day at his house, waking up in a comfortable bed, the pain in his stomach, throwing up everywhere, and … America. His gaze shot up to see the bigger nation sleeping soundly beside him.

He wanted to be upset with himself for being stupid enough to ask America to stay with him or to except his help at all really. But his pride seemed to have been crushed by his exhaustion and fear, left out of commission for the moment.

So he just let out a sigh and let his head fall lightly on the sleeping man's shoulder. He knew what he had tried to do back at his place, but did America know? Was he upset? Did he even really care? Another thought struck him suddenly. Did he really want to live now just because he had failed once? Would he try again?

It didn't take him long to realize that his life seemed just as pointless and painful as it had before and that, yes, he would be more than willing to try again, if he knew it would work that is.

His morbid thoughts were abruptly cut short by America shifting beside him. That's right. America had saved him. But why? Did America actually care about him? He cursed himself for allowing such a hopeful thought into his head but now that it was there, he knew it would be next to impossible to get it out again. At least without America himself proving it wrong.

If America really did care, and that was a big if, then he didn't really have a reason to kill himself. The whole idea of doing so in the first place was because he thought no one cared. There was that fear though, that America didn't care. He didn't have the strength to take a leap of faith. Years of loneliness, hardship, and pain weighed him down and turned his legs into cement.

There had to be a way to know. He frowned in thought. He decided that he would live. Live until America could prove whether or not he cared. If he did, he would keep on living. But if he didn't… We'll if he didn't then he would end it once and for all. No mess ups this time.

He also decided that America couldn't know that his life hung in his hands. He was sure that he would just pretend he cared even if he didn't just so England would live. For his own benefits of course.

So America had one month. One month to make up England's mind. Then England would decide if America really cared for him or not. America was now playing the game of England's life without even being aware of it.

With this new resolution, England closed his eyes. He snuggled closer to America. He really did love America, he thought. He couldn't help but hope that America would go down the path where England lives and that he could just forget about this whole thing. He really, really, really loved America. These were his last thoughts before falling back asleep.

"Arthur? Hey! Come on!" America whispered loudly. "Wake up!" England groaned. He was still tired. He forced his eyes open upon realizing that America would persist until he got him up. " Hey! You're awake!" America said happily. He shot England the biggest smile he could manage. England couldn't help but offer a small smile of his own. America's smiles were just so contagious.

"Morning." England mumbled tiredly. Bringing a hand to his face. He rubbed at his eyes before yawning and giving America a sleepy look. One that America couldn't help but think was adorable. Although he thought better than to say that out loud.

"I brought you breakfast, sweetie." America figured that he would keep using the nicknames until England told him to stop. He quite enjoyed using them after all. And England really was his sweetie. (England just didn't know that)

"You...brought me breakfast?" England mumbled.

"Yeah!" America said, ever the enthusiast. " and I promise it's not McDonald's!" He added quickly. He knew that England would be pissed if he brought him that for breakfast. " It's eggs and toast." He explained, holding out the tray so England could see. "Sorry it's not a lot. It's just that you were sick yesterday so I didn't want to upset your tummy and I didn't really know something you would like in particular but the internet said that this stuff was good for sick people so I just made this." And he was rambling. He shut his mouth quickly.

He waited for England to pass his judgement on the breakfast. He really wanted England to like it. He wasn't exactly sure why. He hadn't particularly cared any other time. But seeing England like he had been last night had really scared him. So he was doing everything he could to make sure that didn't happen again.

Finally, England spoke. "Th-thank you, Alfred." He mumbled. He reached his hands forward to take the tray. Alfred gave it to him quickly and watched as he started to eat.

He'd only eaten maybe three bites when he looked up at America, a frown on his face. "Is something wrong?" America blurted.

" I was just wondering why you aren't eating anything?" England said, a bit taken aback by America's sudden outburst.

"Oh." Relief flooded through the tense nation. "I ate earlier. Before you woke up." He explained easily. England nodded before turning back to his breakfast.

He had eaten about half of it before hesitantly claiming he was full. "That's alright you can eat something later." America assured him. A silence stretched out between the two nations for a long time. Both lost in there own thoughts.

"Hey, America?" England mumbled. His gaze downcast.

"Yeah?" America said. A bit surprised by the sudden noise.

"I… well… how did I get here?" England's heart was pounding in his chest. This was the moment he would find out if America actually knew what he had done or if he had assumed something else.

"Oh. Well I was going over to your place to visit. A surprise visit. You know? And well you didn't answer the door so I let myself in and that's when… when I found you passed out on the floor. You looked pretty sick and I couldn't get you to wake up so I brought you back here. I'm glad I did to, after last night." America was talking a bit quickly. He had his own worries. What if England was mad that he'd brought him all the way here?

"Oh. Alright." England said. He felt relief flood through him. He didn't know. Another thought suddenly occurred to him and he swallowed thickly. "Do… do you w-want me to… leave?" England had to know.

"Of course not!" America's confidence had returned now. Why would England ever think something like that? "I'm not letting you leave even if you wanted to. You're still sick! And who knows what could happen if you are home alone and something like last night were to happen!" He finished with a defiant frown. Crossing his arms over his chest in a matter-of-fact sort of fashion.

England couldn't help but be shocked at this new revelation. America really wanted him to stay. He quickly put a point in the "America Cares" column in his head before moving his gaze up to meet the American's. "Th-thanks" he whispered.

"H-hey. Are you crying?" America said in surprise. Tears were making there way down the sick nation's cheeks before dripping down to the blanket. His green eyes were wide and watery and his shoulders were shaking a bit.

"I am?" He mumbled, bringing a trembling hand to his face. He was surprised to find tears there. "I… I'm just so happy you want me here." England's voice cracked half way through the sentence and he was finding it harder and harder not to start sobbing.

America's gaze softened. He moved forward wrapping his arms around the trembling nation and pulling him close to his chest. " Oh, sweetie. Of course I want you here." He whispered. Rocking his little Arthur in his arms. It didn't take long before he fell back asleep and America decided to stay there with him for a bit longer while he slept.

England woke to a horrible pain in his stomach and a cold space beside him. It hurt so much. He felt tears spring to his eyes and he let out a pained whimper. "A...f...ed.." his throat refused to work properly. He felt a panic set in his chest. He needed Alfred. He was so scared. It hurt. Everything hurt.

He opened his mouth to try again but was instead met with this morning's breakfast making a return trip. He coughed trying to stop the burning in his throat. He threw up again. This time it was blood. He whimpered. Tears made there way down his cheeks as he clutched his stomach tighter. He kept on vomiting up blood. Again and again and again…

He wanted. No. He needed Alfred. Now. He swallowed thickly. This was so much worse than last time. He had to try to get America again. "Al…" he stopped. He swallowed again to stop himself from throwing up, before trying another time. "Alf...red…" he whimpered "P-plea...se…" He vomited again. A sob escaped his throat.

He laid there for what felt like forever. A soft voice startled him. He was sure no one was coming. "Arthur? Hey, Arthur? It's alright. I'm here now." England felt a warm hand rubbing on his back and turned his head to meet the American's worried gaze.

"Al...fr...ed?" He forced out of his burning throat. He was so scared it wasn't really him. That is was a dream. He wanted to reach out and touch him but his body refused to move.

"Hey. Shhh. You're alright." Alfred said softly. He reached his hand forward and ran it through England's sweaty blond hair. "Close your eyes, sweetie. It'll be okay. I'll fix it. I'll make you feel better." Alfred's hand was still stroking his hair.

England couldn't help but calm down at the sound of America's soothing voice. He whimpered again as a new wave of pain shot through him. He was so tired though and America's hand was so gentle… his eyes drifted closed and the world turned to darkness.

America let out a breath after England had finally fallen asleep. He needed to get him in the bath and change his clothes, he thought. He scooped the smaller man into his arms and headed toward the bathroom.

He bathed him and changed both England's and his own clothes before heading back toward the bed only to realize it was covered in throw up as was the floor beside the bed.

He glanced around wondering where he should set the nation so that he could clean up the mess. The recliner, he thought.

He set him down gently before moving back toward the mess and cleaning it up quickly. He really didn't want to leave him in the recliner for too long. It wasn't the slightest bit comfortable. He knew that from experience.

Finally, he was finished and was quick to scoop England back up into his arms. He held him there for a moment listening to his peaceful breathing. "I'll make you feel better. I promise." He whispered softly. " You just rest my little Arthur."

After he had the island nation tucked into bed securely, he sat down on the edge of the bed and allowed his thoughts to wonder. He had to find a way to help His England. Although he hadn't told him before, he knew what England had tried to do. He hadn't wanted to tell him he knew because he was sure that he would get all defensive and try to leave or something equally counter productive.

But now… he wasn't so sure. England was acting… differently anyways, so could he really count on him to act like he usually would in this situation? This was really giving him a headache.

He knew that he couldn't avoid telling him forever, but it just seemed so much… safer… easier… to leave things as they were now. But he wasn't exactly sure what he had drank to try to end it. He could guess that it had been some sort of poison or something but all that had been there when he arrived had been an empty container on the floor.

He was sure that whatever it had been it was what was causing him to be so sick now. He would have to find out what it was to be able to help his poor Arthur. The easiest way to do that would be to just ask. But that would mean telling him that he knew everything. Ugh. This was just so… so… so frustrating! He didn't want to make the wrong move and screw everything up!

He let out a tired sigh, his gaze drifting down to the peaceful looking nation below him. He could figure it out later. He just wanted to sleep right now. He shifted so that he was lying beside his little Arthur and closed his eyes. He would fix this. Make things right. He just had to figure out how to do that. He had to help England get better.

He was about to fall asleep when another thought occurred to him. Why had England tried to commit suicide? Did he really think that his life was horrible enough to resort to that? Why hadn't he noticed that England was so unhappy?

Some how, some way he had to figure it out if he was going to ever be able to help his little Arthur. And he would. Would help him if it was the last thing he ever did. Finally sleep was able to still America away, this silent promise his last thought.


	4. An Adventure in Baking

Author's Note: Sorry for not updating yesterday, I found myself quite busy. But this is my longest chapter yet, so hopefully that makes up for it? Anyways, this chapter is definitely more fluff than any thing else. Sorry if you don't like fluff but I thought it would fit well in this part of the story so I put it in there. Don't worry though, next chapter will be back to more angst!

 ** _Disclaimer: I Own Nothing_**

 ** _Word Count: 2,418_**

Chapter 3: Investigations, An Adventure in Baking, and A Sleepy Arthur

America woke only a short while later. England was still fast asleep beside him so he stood carefully. He really didn't want to wake him up. He headed down stairs quietly.

He was eager to do some research to try to figure out how to help England. Not knowing what type of poison, if that was what it was, he didn't know that either, wasn't helping at all, though.

He found himself silently hoping that it would pass on its own. He wasn't exactly sure of the probability of that, he had been throwing up blood after all. But still here he was hoping.

He knew that he would have to ask England about it if his state got worse but decided to leave it be for now. No need to upset England if it would get better on its own.

That rose another problem, though. England had tried to kill himself. Was he supposed to be treating him differently or would that just upset him? Acting like nothing happened felt wrong, though. And dangerous. What if he tried again? His head shot toward the stairs worriedly. It suddenly felt wrong to leave him alone.

After some research he came to a couple of conclusions: He would have to keep him in his eyesight at all times from now on and he would have to make sure there was nothing dangerous around him too. But he would have to be very nonchalant about it. He was almost certain that England would begin to question him if we wasn't careful.

With this in mind he headed back upstairs. He was already screwing up the first rule after all. "Aren't I just off to a wonderful start?" He mumbled to himself. He paused outside the bedroom door for a moment before pushing it open.

England was sitting up in bed and turned toward him in surprise when he opened the door. " How're you feeling?" America questioned.

England blinked as if he were struggling to comprehend the question before nodding. "I feel better."

"That's good." Came America's tense reply.

A long silence stretched out between the pair. Finally, England broke it. "Alfred? What's wrong?" England couldn't help but be scared. What if he screwed something up?

"N-nothing." America was horrible at this already.

"D-did I mess up?" The Island nation's voice was full of concern and worry. "Are you angry with me?"

"Angry? Of course not!" America couldn't believe what he was hearing! " Why would you ever think something like that?"

"I… you just seem upset." England wasn't meeting his gaze anymore.

America moved forward. He put a reassuring hand on the smaller nation's shoulder. "You didn't do anything. I just want you to feel better. Okay?" His voice was surprisingly calm, considering this was America after all.

England nodded in understanding. "I am feeling better." He reassured the American.

"I know. But I can't help but worry!" America said with a laugh.

A comfortable silence stretched out between the two. Before England spoke. "H-hey America?" He seemed anxious now.

America frowned. "Yeah?" He felt a frown pulling on his lips. England was freaking him out.

"Well… I was just wondering if you would…" The island nation was fidgeting now. His hands occupied with picking at the stitches on the blanket. " Would show me how to bake something?"He glanced up, meeting America's gaze, a light blush coloring his cheeks.

America felt relief wash through him and then surprise. It seem such a weird thing to ask considering their conversation before this and it didn't help the the question was coming from England of all people. "You want me to show you how to bake something? Really?" He said dumbfounded.

"Yes. B-but you don't have to If you don't want to. It's just that I know that I'm terrible at cooking, and maybe if you showed me it would help. That's all." England gushed, his blush deepening.

America felt a smile pull at his lips. "Sure. I'd love to bake something with you!" The whole entire prospect just seemed so… innocent. It really would help lighten the mood… and maybe help England. It would at least give him an excuse to be around him if nothing else.

"You'll really do it!" England beamed. The smile brightening his whole face. He glanced at America with wide green eyes. He is so adorable, America thought.

"Of course!" He smiles back. " Maybe we could make… sugar cookies! Those are fairly easy and you get to cut them into different shapes!" America really was to excited for this.

"Can we do it now?" England said hopefully. His eyes widening in anticipation for an answer.

America blinked. Did they have all the ingredients? He did a run through in his head. Flour… check.

Baking powder… check. Salt...check. Butter...check. Sugar and eggs...check and check! Milk… check! That was everything! "Yeah! We can make them now." America said just a bit to pleased that they had all the ingredients. He really wanted to make England happy is all.

England couldn't help but be happy. Maybe America really did care if he was willing to do this with him. Or maybe he's just doing it to use you. A darker part of his mind provided. He pushed the thought away. He was going to have fun with America! No matter what!

"You ready to go?" America glanced down at the smaller nation expectantly. England nodded his head. He moved to stand up, but his body felt sluggish and slow. A sharp pain spread through his body and he gasped, before trying to stand again to no avail. He frowned swallowing back the lump forming in his throat. He really couldn't move. He dreaded having to tell Alfred that he couldn't make cookies after all. That he couldn't even get out of bed right now.

Before he could even open his mouth to say anything, America was scooping him up into his arms. "A-Alfred! What are y-you doing!" He gasped in surprise.

"Going downstairs to make cookies! Obviously!" He said a determined look on his face. He turned toward the door as he held the Briton close to his chest.

England felt tears spring to his eyes and he blinked them back quickly. He gripped the front of America's shirt tightly. Why was he being so nice. It really was confusing him.

After they got downstairs, America carefully set England down on the counter, making sure that he could hold himself up okay. Before quickly gathering the ingredients. "Alright. First we have to mix the flour, baking powder, and salt." The bigger nation pushed the three ingredients forward (he already measured them out) "Can you put those in that bowl while I get the other stuff ready?"

England nodded. America turned around before remembering something. " Hey! Make sure that you don't…" A white cloud suddenly engulfed them. A white dust settled over the both of them leaving a wide-eyed England in its wake. "...pour all the flour in at once." America finished, very much aware that the effort was fruitless.

"S-sorry!" England replied quickly.His eyes were still wide with worry and his hair dusted white.

America couldn't help but laugh at the sight. "It… It's fine!"

"Why're you laughing!" England felt a blush spreading across his cheeks again. He glanced at the laughing America with a pout on his face.

"S-sorry! You're just a silly goofball!" America explained. " You're adorable, but still a silly goofball." He felt his laughter die down. "Come on we better finish these cookies.

England was still pouting, though. So America moved forward and wiped some of the flower of his face. "Cmon! You can't be pouty on me the whole time now! Who's gonna beat the butter and sugar if you're pouting?"

"You can do it." England said, refusing to meet the American's gaze.

America let out a fake gasp and clutched at his chest. " Oh! You wound me so! To leave me to beat the butter and sugar on my own! How will I ever manage without my Arthur to help me!"

"You can do it." England had to duck down so that America couldn't see the smile forming on his face.

"I assure you, you are mistaken! I would be lost without your help! Even a hero like me can't defeat this task without the valiant England's aid!"

"I don't think so." England was trying so hard not to laugh.

"You must reconsider, please?" America was giving him the puppy dog eyes now.

England snickered. " If you're sure…"

"I am! I am!" America was bobbing his head up and down enthusiastically now.

"Alright. I suppose. I guess that I'll help you if you're really that desperate." England was beaming now.

"Oh thank you, my valiant Arthur!" America said happily. He was quick to show him how to work the mixer and how to tell when it was finished before turning back to the other ingredients.

After he got the appropriate ingredients, he turned back to England. Now we have to put the egg and milk in there he explained. He offered the milk first, then the egg. " H-how do you crack it?" England asked hesitantly.

America smiled. "Don't worry. It's pretty easy." America assured. "Here I'll show you." America grabbed the island nation's hand gently and guided them in the motion. "There we go wasn't that easy!" America smiled warmly at England. "Let's see… what's next." He turned back to the flour mixture.

"Alright. We have to put that mixer on low and gradually add this." He said presenting the powder filled bowl.

"Carefully." England said, remembering the incident from earlier.

America laughed. "Right. Carefully."

After they both did that together, America turned to look at England, who was watching the mixer from his seat on the counter in fascination. He looked pretty tired and he was a bit pale. He was still sick after all. "Hey, Arthur. After the dough stops sticking to the sides we have to divide it into to equal parts, wrap them both in wax paper, and put in the refrigerator for two hours." He emphasized by holding up two fingers.

"Okay. I think it's ready England said glancing back down at the dough.

America joined him, looking for himself. "I think that you're right."

Not long after that,the dough was in the fridge and a timer for two hours was set. America turned back to the sleepy looking nation He really was adorable in that oversized shirt and his messy hair sure was helping, America though before scooping England into his arms.

"Wh-where are you taking me!?" England said, surprised by the sudden movement.

"To bed. You are still sick and you look exhausted."

England opened his mouth to protest but America cut him off. "I'll wake you before the dough is ready to be taken out of the fridge." he assured.

England nodded. Burying his face into America's chest. They headed up stairs and America tucked the smaller nation into bed. England surprised him a bit when he grabbed onto his hand. After he recovered from his shock he just squeezed it in return. "Get some rest alright? I'll be here when you wake up." America assured him.

It took no longer than 30 seconds before he fell asleep. America let out a sigh. He was just glad that England had seemed happier earlier. He just had to keep this up for awhile longer. Until he was better. Was there a "getting better"? He wondered. A knot formed in his stomach. What if he was like this forever?

No. He would fix this England had to get better.

"Arthur? Sweetie? The dough is done." America mumbled softly, running a hand through the Briton's hair gently. He was met with a groan. "Don't you want to finish your cookies? Oh Valiant Arthur!" The bigger nation teased.

"Cookies… ready?" England mumbled. Bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. He yawned. "Okay. We can go." His voice was still sleepy. He reached his arms up expectantly. Waiting for America to pick him up.

America would admit that he was a bit surprised by that. He had seemed embarrassed about needing to be carried before after all. He wouldn't complain, though. He was glad that England trusted him enough to let his guard down. It really was a rare thing for England to do. Especially to America.

He reached down and pulled England into his arms. " You don't have to come if your to tired." He assured. He did still look really tired.

"Mmmm fine." He mumbled in reply. His head fell lightly onto America's shoulder.

"If you're sure." America replied. Before heading toward the door.

Just like before, America set England down on the counter. "Alright. Let me get the dough from the fridge" He turned and got the dough before setting it on the counter.

"I already preheated the oven, so now we have to roll the cookies out on the table. The bonus is you get to but powdered sugar all over the table first." America explained.

England seemed more awake now. Listening to him intently. "So we're going to the table?" He glanced over to it.

"Yeah. That's right." He glanced down at England. Before Stretching out his arms. "Come on. I'll carry you." England hesitated only a moment before allowing himself to be pulled in America's arms.

After they rolled the dough out and cut it into a bunch of different shapes, all that was left to do was cook them. "They only take about 7 minutes to bake." He informed England. "Then we let them cool."

After the cookies were left cooling, America turned back to England. "Alright. It's off to bed with you."

"What? I'm not tired." England said sleepily.

"Uh-huh." America crossed his arms.

"Fine." England mumbled with a sigh of defeat. Reaching his arms up to be carried. It was becoming quite enjoyable.

"You can have some cookies in the morning." America told him as they climbed the stairs.

England was soon tucked into bed again. "You... gonna... stay?" England mumbled tiredly. Obviously already half asleep.

America smiled. "If you want me too."

"Mmm" England reached lazily for him not even bothering to open his eyes. America smiled and grabbed his hand before climbing into bed beside him. They both fell asleep like that. No worried thoughts plaquing their minds for once.


	5. Nightmares, Fear, and Comfort

Author's Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than the last couple but I wanted to put up a chapter today. If you would like it better if I posted longer chapters, but have more time between the updates opposed to having shorter chapters, but there being an update almost everyday, please tell me! Also, if you notice anything I'm doing really badly at in this story, please tell me! This is my first ever FanFiction, so knowing what I'm doing wrong will really help me a lot as a writer!

Disclaimer: I Own Nothing

Word Count: 1,474

Chapter 4: Nightmares, Fear, and Comfort

England blinked in confusion. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was falling asleep with America after making those cookies. Now he was standing in the rain. He glanced around before spotting a figure in the distance.

He recognized it as America, so he ran toward it."America! Hey America!" He was slightly out of breath as he came closer. A smile planted on his face despite the rain. It would be fine now that he found America. "Hey! Do you know what happened? I have no idea how we got out here!" He was still smiling.

America didn't answer, a scowl on his face. "A-America?" He whispered. His smile fading. "W-what's wrong?"

America's scowl deepened. "You're what's wrong! Why are you even here!" He yelled, venom dripping from his words.

"I… I don't understand." England whispered. "I-I thought that you-"

"That's the problem with you isn't it?" America cut him off. "You always assume things about me. Well guess what you're wrong! I'm not your colony anymore! I'm my own country! And I hate you!" America pushed England roughly causing him to slip and fall to the soaking wet ground with a splat.

It was then that England understood. This was just like that day. The day America left him. "A-America. I… I'm sorry." He was so scared. His heart was pounding in his chest. America was looking at him with hatred in his eyes. Even on that night he hadn't looked at him like that.

"Liar. You are so manipulative! And you wonder why everyone leaves!" He waved his arms about in anger, staring down at the smaller nation like he was scum of the earth.

"I-" England began again only to be cut off yet again.

"You're such a horrible person no one can stand to be around you for more than 5 minutes! Truth be told you're a screw up! An Idiot! And everyone agrees with me!" America was somehow yelling louder than before.

"America." England choked out. Tears slipping down his cheeks. His green eyes wide with shock. He really thought America cared.

America's scowl deepened, if that was even possible. "You really think that crying is going to make me feel bad for you. Worthless scum like you isn't worth the effort!" He scoffed. "So just shut up!" With that America connected his boot with the trembling England's face, causing him to fall back roughly in the mud.

England let out a sob. How did he screw up so badly.

"I said,'Shut up'!" America shouted. His foot connecting with the island nation's side roughly. When England didn't stop, he kicked him again. "You're so stupid!" Another kick. "Worthless!" Another kick. "Horrible!" Yet another kick. He continued to shout insult after insult and deliver kick after kick to the battered body below him.

Finally, he stopped. He reached down grabbing up the blood and mud covered nation roughly. "I hate you!" He shook the Briton roughly. "I couldn't care less if you died!" America hissed, throwing him roughly to the ground before walking away.

Tears ran down England's face. "P-please! W-wait. I-I'm s-so sorry!" He sobbed. His battered body refused to cooperate enough to stand. He kept on slipping back into the mud. "Please!"

America woke to England thrashing around in the bed. He blinked in confusion. "What's wrong?" He mumbled. His mind still heavy with sleep. "Arthur?" He questioned hesitantly. Finally, he glanced over at him. His eyes widened in surprise. He was crying. Tears making their way down his flushed cheeks.

He's having a nightmare, America realized. He cursed himself for being so dense, moving forward and shaking the island nation by the shoulders. "C'mon! You gotta wake up! It's just a dream!"

England's eyes finally opened and his thrashing stopped. Tears were still streaming down his face, though. "A… America?" He choked out.

America smiled a bit, relieved that he was okay. "Yeah. It's me." He assured him.

He was met with the most agonized sob that he had ever heard. "I'm sorry!" He was shaking so badly. America felt his heart shatter. It seemed to be doing that a lot lately, didn't it?

"Oh, sweetie." He whispered. Pulling the sobbing nation against him.

"I'm sorry! Please don't leave me!" He sobbed. He gripped the front of America's shirt tightly.

"I'm not going to leave you." America assured him. Just to prove his point, he pulled England closer, running his hands through the trembling nation's hair gently.

He coughed, blood splattering out of his parted lips. More blood came up between the pained sobs. His whole body trembling horribly. America didn't know what to do so he just kept stroking his hand through his hair reassuringly. He had never brought up straight blood before, he had only ever thrown it up with something else. Never like this. He was getting worse. And the nightmare wasn't helping.

He continued to sob, even after he stopped coughing up blood. He kept repeating the same two lines over and over again between sobs. America continued to hold him tightly and rock him back and forth. England was scaring him. Really scaring him.

Finally, England's sobs died down to sniffles and an occasional whimper. He was still clutching the front of America's shirt like his life depended on it, though. America didn't dare try to pull away. He was to worried about upsetting England again.

"Alfred?" England's voice was a whisper.

"Yeah?" America replied, unusually quiet. He ran his hand through the smaller nation's blond locks gently.

"Do… do you hate me?" He whispered, voice cracking as he spoke.

"Of course not!"

"Okay."

They sat there in silence for a long time after that. England didn't ask America any more questions and America was too scared that he'd upset the fragile nation if he asked anything of his own. He never was good with words, after all. He provided the only comfort that he knew how to: hugging him close and stroking his hair.

England ended up being the person to break the long silence. "Alfred? What time is it?"

America was a bit surprised by the question. "Uhhh…" he glanced toward the clock. " 7:37 A.M!" He said at last.

"Can I have one of our cookies, then?" England asked quietly. He really didn't feel like talking about his dream and he was sure that the cookies would help him remember happier memories instead of the darker ones from his nightmare. Plus it would get the horrible taste of blood from his mouth.

"Uh. Sure. Yeah." America was a bit startled by the sudden change in England's mood. He supposed it was good that he was well enough for cookies. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he was just trying to avoid the any further questions about his nightmare... or the blood.

"Are we going to go?" England's hesitant voice startled America out of his thoughts.

"Yeah! Sorry!" He replied quickly, before scooping the smaller nation into his strong arms.

It wasn't long until the pair were both munching on cookies in the kitchen. England sat on the counter, staring down at his lap. America standing beside him. An awkward silence spread out between the two. Neither knowing what to say to the other.

America knew that this couldn't go on forever, with himself acting as if England was just a little sick. Not bringing the more morbid topics up and England playing along with the game, acting just as oblivious as America. But what was he supposed to say? Hey! I know that you tried to kill yourself! That's stupid! Don't do that. Now tell me what you used so that I can help you!

Of course he wasn't going to say that! England would freak out and get distance. It was a bad habit the island nation had and he couldn't afford to lose the nation's trust. He glanced at the Briton with gentle eyes. He was staring at his cookie eating it slowly, a bit of blood still smeared on his cheek. He let out a soft sigh. What was he going to do? Say? He cared way too much for England to take his usual strategy into this, loud and reckless, uncaring of anything around him. A bull in a china shop, to put it simply.

Why couldn't he figure what the hell he was doing! He was so stupid! His stomach was in knots and he had to swollen the lump in his throat. He had to act like everything was fine, for England's sake. He felt so lost and helpless. Any sort of progress would be like dodging landmines, you are never sure where they are until they're blowing up in your face.

America really would have to tread carefully from now on. He really would.


	6. Departure, A Meeting, and Regrets

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to update. I'll try to update more quickly next time, although I don't want to make any promises I can't keep. In case anyone was curious, I think that this FanFiction is going to be between 6 and 10 chapters. It really just depends on how much I write into each chapter.

Disclaimer- I still don't own anything.

 **Word Count: 2,550**

Chapter 5: Departure, A Meeting, and Regrets

It had been a week since England's nightmare and somehow, someway, England was getting better. He wasn't throwing up at all anymore and he could walk around on his own for the most part. The American would admit he had been uncertain of how exactly the island nation was getting better before deciding that England was in fact a nation so that probably had something to do with it. Although he found himself saying that it was their awesome cookies that had healed him.

America wished that he could act like everything was fine now but there was still the fact that England had tried to kill himself. The fear that he would try again sat heavily in his stomach like a stone block. He didn't know what to do. He knew that he couldn't just act like nothing happened but he didn't know what else to do. So that's what he found himself doing. Just smiling and acting stupid like he would usually do.

England had decided to go home. He had said that he had had enough of the American in the past two weeks, although his hesitancy to go begged to differ. America wanted to tell him to stay. He wanted to yell at him and tell him to stop acting like he was okay when it was obvious he wasn't. He was so… so worried for him, yet he found himself laughing and letting him go. Both of them acting like the past two weeks had never happened. It was for the best, America convinced himself.

England arrived home to an empty house full of dust and regrets and painful memories and immediately wanted to go back to America's. Sure he didn't have good quality tea or any of his favorite books and England did love his country greatly but he felt hollow here like he was missing something. This whole entire house was chipping away at his heart. England really didn't know how long he could take it this time before he broke. Would he even be able to make it until the one month he had given America to prove that he cared was over? He had to make it until then. Although he already felt like America didn't care in the slightest just because he had let him leave. England knew that was ridiculous he had been the one to insist on going home, but he wished that America had stopped him and told him to stay. That he knew how broken England was and that if he just stayed then they could pick up the pieces together. That everything was going to be fine.

England brought a hand up to his face. He felt tears there and as he glanced around he realized that the sunlight brightening the room had turned into a dull light from the street lamps outside. Had he really been standing here in his living room lost in his thoughts for hours? He found that the tears wouldn't stop falling and he suddenly realized that America wasn't here to hold him this time. That he was alone again. He let out a sob crumbling to the floor in a heap of tears and loneliness and pain because America wasn't here and he needed America. He needed his strong arms around him and his soothing voice and his hand in his hair. He needed America to grab his hand and stop him from sinking. He was too tired to do it on his own and only if he could have America then all of his troubles could be gone. So he lay there on the floor crying, wishing for America, until sleep finally claimed him.

England woke to the realization that they had a World meeting today. It had been a whole week since he had left America's and he hadn't done anything except stay at his house and busy himself with work to keep his mind off of things. Although he didn't particularly like World Meetings, he was glad for the change of scenery… and that he would get to see America. A blush dusted his cheeks with that thought and he was glad that no one was there to see it.

He was quick to get ready for the meeting. He had slept a bit later than usual and he had a streak of getting to the meetings early to uphold afterall. He did end up getting to the meeting first. He began the usual preparations, when a voice behind him startled him and made him drop the chalk he had been using to draw on the board. "Hey, England! Whatcha doin'?"

He recognized the voice as America. " You scared me, you git!" He yelled. His cheeks were flushed red and his heart was hammering in his chest. He wasn't ready to talk to America again. After his departure a week ago, all he had been thinking about was America. The only way he had gotten his mind off of him at all was through immersing himself in paperwork. Yet now he felt like running away from the American in front of him. He had no idea what to say or do.

America looked stunned by his outburst for a minute before one of his characteristic smiles found its way onto his face. "You're losing you're hearing in your old age, England." His obnoxious laugh followed before silence drifted into the room, surrounding the pair.

England scoffed a little too late. The sound hanging awkwardly in the air. His throat felt tight. But he forced himself to speak. "As if, America. I was just immersed in my work. Not all of us just mess around you know." The words felt forced. No real bite or meaning behind them.

America didn't know what to say. That was such a rare predicament for the American. He had no idea what to do. He found himself panicking before words were being forced out. "You weren't saying that when I was taking care of you. You couldn't even get out of bed by yourself." He scoffed. "Like I'm the most useless one here. Was I messing around then, England?" The word came out full of a venom, a side effect of his panic and uncertainty. He really hated to be painted into a corner like that.

England visibly flinched at the words. His gaze jerking down to look at his shoes. He felt tears in his eyes. He had been crying way too much recently. Even still, he found that he couldn't stop the tears from falling. He watched as they hit the top of his shoes. America's words had stung, no, burned. Like a hot molten metal had settled itself into his heart. "I suppose not, America." It took way too much effort to say the words. His throat felt tight and he found himself swallowing back a sob.

America's eyes widened after he caught sight of the Briton. The full effect of the words he'd said hit him like a train. What was he thinking? He felt regret settle itself in the pit of his stomach. He'd screwed up. "England. I…" the island nation was already leaving. He ran through the door to he meeting room quickly. Nearly slamming into France on the way out. He completely ignored his questions and complaints for his rudeness.

America wanted to run after him so badly. But France's questioning stare seemed to root him to the spot. "What was that about? He's so over dramatic." France said with a laugh. Not seeming to care in the slightest for England. "And so rude!" He added almost as an afterthought. An awkward silence stretched out between the two. America said nothing for once. His mouth had gotten him into trouble enough for today.

"America?" This time he seemed confused.

America jumped. "What?" He snapped.

"I asked what happened."

"None of your business France." He huffed. His trance was broken so he headed toward the door. Intent on finding England.

As he walked down the hallway, he found his mind wandering. England had been crying. Not only that but he had been the one to make England cry. What he said was so uncalled for. After everything that happened. He knew that England was unstable. That he didn't need to hear something like that. Yet his stupid mouth had still said them. What was wrong with him? He shook his head. He needed to focus on finding England.

He had searched every inch of the meeting building to no avail. Every room, every bathroom, and every nook and cranny. He couldn't find the island nation anywhere. He was so scared. What was wrong with him? He slumped against a nearby wall and pulled out his phone. Maybe if he called, England would answer. It sounded like a long shot, but he was running out of options.

His hand hovered over the call button hesitantly . If England did answer, what was he going to say? He frowned. He couldn't think about that! He pressed the call button before he could second guess himself.

England ran through the hall, tears clouding his vision. America had hurt him so badly. England was already so broken. America had only added salt to the wound. He rushed out of the front of the building. He wasn't sure where he was going but he couldn't deal with America right now. The words he had said and the tone he had used were just too much right now.

He ran down the street. Slamming into people as he went. The chill of winter and the icy rain pouring down on him lost in his pain and desperation to get away. He wasn't sure how long he had been running but the crowds around him felt like they were suffocating him. The other side of the street seemed way less crowded. He made a run for it, eager to get away from the turmoil around him.

England felt a sudden pain spread through his body like a raging fire. The next thing he knew he was laying on the wet concrete, pain throbbing through him. He had been hit. He scrambled to his feet, adrenaline allowing him to ignore the agonizing pain shooting through him as he made a break for it, ignoring the voices calling behind him.

England slumped to the hard ground with a thump. He was thoroughly soaked and exhausted. He was aware that he was bleeding, but was too tired to figure from where exactly it was coming from. His whole body throbbed against the pain. He wanted America. He knew it was ridiculous. He should hate America for what he said. He shouldn't forgive him so easily, but he was scared and tired and alone and everything hurt. If America was here he could make it better.

He wasn't sure exactly how long he was sitting there, but the rain had stopped, leaving him soaked, and he was too exhausted and in too much pain to even attempt at standing up. The daylight had faded by now leaving him in the dull light of a street lamp. Although, it was pretty faint from where he sat. It was then that he felt his phone buzz. The sound startled him and he jumped a bit before realizing where it had come from. He reached a shaky hand into his pocket and numbly pulled the phone out to look at the caller I.D. His eyes widened at the name written on the screen. America. He was pressing the button before he could even think about what he was doing.

America waited in anticipation for England to answer. He blinked in surprise when the call connected. "H-hello?" America's voice shook a bit in anticipation as he spoke. He couldn't believe that England had actually answered.

"Al-Alfred?" England choked out. His throat was tight, a lump settled firmly in it. He felt as though he was going to cry again, although he didn't know if it was from the pain, anger, or relief. Maybe all three.

"Hey, I… I'm sorry. Sorry for what I said. I shouldn't have said that. Just…I'm so so so sorry!" America blurted out quickly. He was so worried that England was mad at him still. There was silence for a moment after he spoke before he heard a sob. "E-ngland?" He questioned. Had he messed up again?

"Alfred!" England choked out between sobs. "P-please. J-just come get me. P-please." Despite the fact that the American's apology was a bit sub par, he still wanted him here. He was so scared.

America blinked in surprise at England's outburst. "Of course I'll come get you!" He blurted quickly. "Just… just tell me where you are." He was already headed for the door.

"I…" England said hesitantly. He had no idea where he was. He glanced out into the street for some sort of idea. He spotted a street sign after glancing around. "I'm by… a Gerard Street." He answered at last.

America blinked, surprised by the answer. He was expecting an actual place, not just a street. "Alright. Are you in a building or…?

"An alleyway. Just by the sign." England swallowed. Was he still going to come?

"Okay. I'm on my way." America's heart was hammering in his chest. England actually wanted him to come. He ended the call, before making a run down the street. He had to stop and ask where that street was a couple times. But finally, he reached it. "England?" He called out hesitantly.

" I'm here. Please h-hurry." England's voice was hoarse and pained when he spoke, making America frown.

He rushed forward, catching sight of the island nation. He couldn't make out his features very well because of how dark it was, especially with him blocking the light from the street lamp as he entered. "Hey! England!" America sounded nervous. He knelt down next to the trembling nation and was surprised to see blood splattered on his face. "Wh-what happened?" His voice stuck in his throat. His heart was hammering and his hands were shaking with nerves.

"I… I'm sorry." England choked out, completely ignoring America's question. "I shouldn't have run away!" He was sobbing now.

America's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden outburst. "England," His voice was soft, a fine velvet. The nerves that had previously gotten to him were gone now leaving one thought: He had to help England. "You don't have to apologize. Let's just get you home. Then we can talk about everything later. Alright?" England gave a stiff nod. America reached down pulling the smaller nation into his arms. He winced at how cold his body felt. The hot sticky blood covering his clothes contrasting against the cold didn't make America feel any better. He chose not to comment on it, but moved carefully so that he didn't jostle him too much. He still hadn't been told what had happened, so he was extra careful.

Despite his best efforts, England still whimpered and gripped his shirt when he was jostled too much. "Time to get you home." America whispered. He headed out into the dimly lit and cold streets more determined to help England than ever.


	7. Confessions, Pain, and Hasty Decisions

Author's Note: It's been ages since I last updated this. I guess I just got busy. No real excuse really. Anyways I think I'm going to have either one more chapter or maybe two or three... We'll see.

Disclaimer: I still don't own it.

Word Count: 2,343

Chapter 6:Confession,Pain,andHastyDecisions

America let out a sigh as he worked on making pancakes. What was he going to do now? Last night, after the chaos that was the world meeting, he had brought Arthur home and bandaged him up as best as he could. He hadn't broken anything, just some bruises and a pretty bad cut. He had to have stitches. But he was alright now. That wasn't what he was worried about though. America knew that he had to have a talk with England. He couldn't avoid it any longer. It just couldn't happen. But he had no idea what to say. That was when he had decided to make breakfast for England. Just some pancakes and tea. But making breakfast wasn't helping. The dread that settled in his stomach made him feel sick, but he tried to ignore it. There was really no point in worrying at all. He just had to do it.

He let out a sigh of defeat. He slowly put the plate of pancakes on the tray to go upstairs and started working on the tea. What if England was still mad at him? What then? He let out another sigh of defeat before setting the tea on the tray and finally making his way upstairs. "Just play it cool." America reminded himself quietly. He let out a deep breath before pushing open the door. Here goes everything.

England woke to the smell of something cooking. He attempted to sit up, but was met with a sudden sharp pain in his chest. He huffed, falling back onto the bed. He blinked surprised by the design of the blankets. These weren't his blankets. Was he in America's house? He distantly remembered falling asleep in America's arms. He must have brought me here then. His thoughts were cut short by the sound of the door opening. His head whipped around to meets America's surprised expression.

"I didn't expect you to be awake." America voice cracked a bit as he spoke. He seem surprised? Maybe worried? He quickly got out of whatever stupor he was in and moved forward, a smile plastered to his face once again. "I made you breakfast!" He said proudly. England struggled weakly to sit up only to feel America stopping him in his tracks. "You'll open your wounds like that." He said, his voice oddly soft. His face was serious, smile gone as if it had never existed. England didn't argue. America set the breakfast tray aside before gently helping England to sit up, propping pillows up behind him. He turned back to the breakfast then. He pulled it into England's lap, that silly smile had returned to his face. "You like pancakes, don't you?" He spoke as though he knew the answer to his question already, but England nodded anyways. He took a hesitant bite. America's pancakes were really good. He ate silently, a bit surprised that America hadn't broken the silence. That was really out of character for him.

Finally, America spoke. "Hey, Arthur? I need to talk to you about something. I have for awhile now, but I was afraid that you would get upset. So just… just hear me out alright…?" America seemed nervous which was really quite odd because it was America that he was talking about and America didn't get nervous.

"I'm listening." England was hesitant to say anything. America was freaking him out a bit. He chose to keep eating his breakfast instead of looking at the American in front of him. He felt like he wouldn't like what he saw if he did look.

"Well...It's about what happened a few weeks ago…" America's voice was oddly soft. An odd sort of careful lilt to it that seemed out of place coming from the happy go lucky American. "I…" He let out a sigh before continuing. "I know what happened. Everything that happened. Why you were so sick and… I… I just don't understand why you did it England." His voice seemed to stop working slowly getting quieter until finally stopping altogether. The words were left hanging in the air, heavy with tension. Despite how many times America had rehearsed the words in his head, he still felt as though he hadn't said the right thing.

England felt his heart hammering in his chest like a caged bird. America knew. Suddenly his breakfast didn't look the slightest bit appetizing. He swallowed thickly. He had no idea what to say. What could he do. Lie? Say it isn't true? Then what? He couldn't just sit here forever! But the idea was looking quite appealing right now. He felt like he was going to be sick. Maybe if he was sick Alfred would forget all about this. But then he would know that Alfred knew. He could feel his hands shaking.

"Arthur?" The voice cut through his thoughts.

Suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. The tension in the air was suffocating him. He couldn't breathe. "Thank you for your concern, America, but I'm fine. I really have to be going now. I have lots of work to do back home and I've already wasted to much time here as it is." His voice sounded panicked. The words tumbling from his lips like water from a flooded river. England felt as though he wasn't even the one in control anymore, like he was on autopilot. He was distantly aware that he had stood up and stumbled toward the door and America calling after him. What he said was completely lost to the Brit. The world seemed fuzzy on the edges. Was someone grabbing his arm? He spoke again, his own words a jumble in his head. Then he was moving again. Going just going and going. Everything seemed to be getting misplaced in his mind, a puzzle that had yet to be put together. He had to go home the thought was there through the disarray of puzzle pieces. It seemed as though so much time had passed yet none at all and the next thing he knew he was falling to the floor. Pain rocketed through him, but he didn't care. He was aware that he was crying but the realization hardly seemed note worthy by now. He was always crying these days. America is probably sick of you by now. His mind provided. Out of all the things he could have thought of right now that was the one he had decided on? He knows. He knows everything. England clutched at his head. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Why? Why did America have to know? He would hate him now. Want nothing to do with him. Who would want to be associated with someone like him? The world disappeared around him at last. The thoughts fading away with it until he was left in nothingness.

Alfred had screwed up. In fact, saying he had screwed up was a bit of an understatement. He had made England hate him. What was wrong with him? He was so stupid. He pulled England close to his chest, careful of his wounds. Despite England's best efforts, he hadn't made it very far before he had collapsed. Only down the hall and halfway down the stairs before he had tripped. Falling the rest of the way down the stairs. That was where he was now. And as much as Alfred wanted to sit there feeling sorry for himself, he had to make sure England hadn't hurt himself even worse. He had been crying, the wet trails standing out against his flushed cheeks. He was asleep now. America wasn't sure if that was a bad or good thing to be honest. He pulled England away from his chest carefully. He had a nasty looking cut on his head and he had opened up his injury from last night. He frowned. His head was burning up. He must be sick from sitting in the rain last night. America sighed. He would have to dress the wounds and then get the smaller nation some medicine.

England woke to a sharp pain in his head and warmth surrounding him. He blinked. America was laying beside him. No. It was more like he and America were cuddling. For some reason he found that he didn't care. Maybe it was because he was so tired. Yeah, that was probably it. He closed his eyes again before he remembered America's confession. He felt panic rise in his chest. He had to get out of here. He struggled against America's strong arms weakly, ignoring the pain shooting through his body.

"Hey." America's sleep filled voice reached England's ears. He needed to get out. He could feel his breath coming out in jagged gasps as he struggled in vain against the larger nation. "Hey, It's okay." America's voice was soft and gentle. England couldn't help but want to believe it. He felt a gentle hand caressing his cheek. He stopped struggling. He looked up at the American, his vision blurry. He was crying again. As if to confirm this, America gently wiped away the tears from the scared nation's face. England felt himself relaxing as he stared up into America's gentle, blue eyes. "I promise everything is going to be okay." America's voice reached his ears and he believed it. For some wild and crazy reason he couldn't begin to fathom he believed it. So he let himself cry. Pressing his face into America's neck. Suddenly wanting to be as close to the American as possible despite having just tried to get away from him moments before.

It seemed like ages before England moved again. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have because the bed was empty, besides himself, and he didn't remember America leaving. He rolled onto his back, wincing at the pain that shot through him. He thought of the last few days, desperate to feel like he understood what he needed to do. America had yelled at him at the World Conference, he had ran off, America had called him and apologized, America came and got him, and he had fallen asleep and awoke at America's house. He frowned. He should be mad at America for yelling at him like that but he wasn't, no couldn't, be mad at the American. Not at all. Why was that? Because America knew. His brain provided. He swallowed. That's right. America knew about everything that had happened. He pushed the thought to the back of his head. No time to think about that, he informed himself. He had long since decided that he wouldn't be going off of any sort of actual logic, because that would mean realizing he had plenty of time to think on the subject and he couldn't have that.

He let new thoughts drift into the forefront of his mind. America's one month seemed to pop up first, so he decided that he really did need to be thinking about that. How many days did he have left again? He hummed aloud, trying to configure the proper numbers. Only a couple days. He felt his heart speed up at the realization. Had America passed? He didn't know. America had hurt him, but he had also been there for him more times that he could count. But… America knew. He would hate him for that. Hate him so much. He'd never want to see him again after that. Never. His thoughts were cut off abruptly by the sound of the door opening. America walked in. He had a tray of food in his hands and it smelled good, really good. Despite that, he didn't move from his position. He didn't want to talk to America right now at all. He layed there, eyes closed. Maybe America would think he was sleeping? He hoped so. He felt the bed dip down beside him and a soft, cool hand on his forehead.

"You're burning up still, Artie." America spoke softly. His voice full of worry. He felt a hand run through his hair. It felt so good. "Artie?" America's voice called softly. "You gonna wake up?" England didn't move. "I got some food for you." England let his eyes open. He didn't want to talk to America but he was hungry and America's voice was so soft and gentle. "Hey, Artie." America had the most ridiculous smile on his face as he glanced at him lovingly.

"Hello." England's voice sounded like gravel. He swallowed, wincing at the pain in his throat. He spoke nothing else and neither did America. The tray of food was set down and America carefully helped him to sit up. He ate greedily. He was so hungry. America watched him sadly, making no comment. After England had finished, America left. England wanted to call out to him to stay, but didn't. Despite his previous thoughts of wanting to be as far away from America as possible, he wanted him here now. It was so odd.

He quickly reached the conclusion that America didn't care. He didn't care at all. He was done. He couldn't do this. The realization hit him hard. He was going to do it. End it once and for all. He could feel himself shaking. America left. He was just trying to be nice so he could use you. He flinched at his own thoughts. He couldn't live like this. He was done with it all. He couldn't wait the last couple of days. He couldn't. It had to end now. Once and for all.

He struggled weakly to stand. He felt pain shoot through him. He ignored it. He walked carefully from the room, locating America's gun cabinet with ease. He grabbed the first gun he saw. He didn't care what kind it was. It would get the job done. He walked quickly toward the bathroom. He locked the door behind him. Was he really going to do this? His hands were shaking. He held the gun to his head. He had to decide now.


	8. The Final Decision

Author's Note

Sorry that this took ages school kind of got in the way. But I'd like to thank my first ever reviewer, Hikari-Akabane! Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm sorry I made you cry though! Don't worry this story has a happy ending! This is the last chapter of His Little Arthur! If you think I should do an epilogue please tell me though! I'm very open to the idea.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Word Count: 434 (short I know.. sorry about that.. :/)

 **Chapter 7: The Final Decision**

England was startled from his thoughts by the door being opened. He turned wide eyed toward… America.

America was here. Should he hide the gun? Deny everything? That would never work he reasoned. So he just stood there, a deer caught in the headlights.

"Oh, Arthur….." America whispered softly.

"L-leave me alone" England's voice shook when he spoke. God I sound stupid, he thought.

"Hey….. hey." America spoke with a certain edge to his voice. He lifted his hands slowly. They were shaking. England took a hesitant step back. "England…. Arthur…. it's okay." He swallowed the lump in his throat. He needed to stay calm. "Why don't…. why don't we just just put the gun down, yeah?" England tightened his grip on the gun. He took another step back and then another before he hit the wall. He seemed panicked, pressing himself against the wall and staring wide eyed at America.

"Go… go away.." England choked out between panicked breaths.

"Artie-"

"My name is not Artie."

"Artie..."

"What do you want from me!"

"I want… I want you to be okay. I want you to put the gun down. I want you to come here and give me a hug. I want to hold you forever, Artie. I love you! I love you so much. I want you to be safe, Artie. So just come here alright." America's face was red with the declaration and he was still shaking with nerves. "Come here…" America's voice was only a whisper now. He threw his arm out wide. A determined look on his face.

England broke. He let out a pained sob as he moved forward and fell into America's arms in exhaustion. America moved quickly, gently taking the gun from his hand before holding him tightly against his chest. He guided the broken nation toward the floor. Holding him tightly all the while. "It's gonna be okay, Artie. I promise. I'm here." America murmured softly into England's hair.

They stayed like that on the floor for what felt like forever. Before America realized England had fallen asleep and gently picked him up and carried him back to the bedroom. He laid him down before laying right beside him and falling asleep, exhausted from the stressful experience.

—-

The next few weeks weren't easy but England and America got through them together. England still had his doubts and America was still there to prove him wrong.

They could do anything they put their minds to together.

The one thing America made sure England knew no matter what was that England was His Little Arthur.


End file.
